


A Fraction of Comfort

by tsukibeam



Series: The Safest Place [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (the actual sleep disorder), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, General Angst, Grieving, Insomnia, but can be read as a stand alone, dead dad angst, like blink and you'll miss it, not...really a happy ending?, technically part of a series, very very minor promptis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukibeam/pseuds/tsukibeam
Summary: He hadn’t forgotten, could never forget what the empire had done, what happened to his father in their glimmering steel palace. Where his father had fallen in that impossibly large place, alone…Noctis could never forget but here, in the dark and consuming silence, the world wavered with the realization of where he was: far from home, in a new world that now bowed to him. Restless and trapped in the memory of a sixteen year old boy.A boy…A boy without a dad.---Or, restless and overheated, Noctis can't sleep--which is the worst time to miss his dad.





	A Fraction of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my father: I can't wait to tell you my own stories. Please ignore all the shit I get up to on the internet >.>

Night, the velvet darkness that shimmered with stars and magic, that made cities and homes glow with golden comfort, had always reminded Noctis of his father. Had always been his favorite as a child.

As a child, night had been _their_ time.

Long after the day had ended for Noctis, when his belly was full, his homework finished and gaming systems cooled, Noctis would wait for his father.

His ears would strain to hear the rustling of stately robes, the click of a great sword in its hilt--listen for the gilded brass handle of his door push down, the beautiful carved wood creak open, a faint cry in the night, revealing--his father.

And Noctis, so small in his bed, would sit up against his plush pillows, barely able to contain his smile as a citrus and woodsy scent filled the room, as Regis’s own smile over took his face, wrinkling his eyes in the corners.

It was never a guaranteed promise that his dad would appear, it never could be with King Regis leading council rooms, meetings, reading reports and advising. Noctis felt it, the strain of Regis’s time--more often than not, Noctis would fall asleep alone, willing understanding into his veins, willing it to replace the disappointment.

Excitement--it was a precious treat flooding him as his dad unbuckled his cape and sword, draping the former over the chair before Noctis’s bed, and the latter against the sturdy wooden bed frame.

Props, proof, as Regis took a breath and began, spinning tales of a courageous prince from long ago...

 

* * *

 

Before, when peace was a promised piece of paper, the world outside Insomnia was a fairytale come to life, an adventure twenty years in the making.

The stars sparkling over head. The Liede desert a long, barren stretch of wild beauty. Smouldering Ravatogh in the distance, so mighty in size that Noctis sometimes thought he could simply reach a finger out and touch it. Galdin, the waters so clear, so turquoise under the blazing sun that it took Noctis’s breath away.

After: duty, a hanging sword; those promises nothing but fluttering ash and his father…

His dad…

The Lestallum hotel, with Prompto and Ignis silent in deep slumber, Gladio snoring softly, was a sauna.

Suffocating.

Noctis had made a valiant attempt at sleeping, had even managed to doze off before the heat pulled him back into agonizing awareness. After an hour, maybe longer, of tossing and turning in the sheets, simple comfort evading him, Noctis sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

So late in the night, the hotel room was cloaked darkness, though he could make out the gray, fuzzy figures of the others. Prompto, curled beside him, oblivious to the world, twitched and Noctis reached a gentle hand out and brushed away the wisps of hair covering his face, envying him for his peaceful, easy sleep.

Sleep hadn’t come easy for Noctis in the past few weeks, ever since leaving Insomnia. Something always pulled him away from it--the chirping insects, the snapping twigs under a clawed paw, the deep grumble of the volcano. The cool wind that snuck past the tent flap…

 _Couldn’t win;_  Noctis rolled his eyes, body practically flaring with unbearable heat.

Stories come to life, those sounds, these feelings--straight from his father’s tales but all...lacking something...something…

Noctis turned over again, frowning, groaning, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Just a few hours, a few minutes. Anything. His arm found Prompto’s warm body and it didn’t matter that the room was too hot, the sheets too stifling--he still draped his arm over Prompto’s waist and drew him close, breathing him in, breathing in the gentle musk of sleep, the gunpowder, the--

Noctis’s eyes snapped open and he leaned away from Prompto, frowning.

Not at Prompto, who buried his face into the pillows, mouth popping open as he sighed in his sleep.

Noctis frowned at that pillow, at the sheets twisting around their bodies, at the dark room beyond the bed. The table, littered with their maps and potions and toiletries; the bathroom, with damp towels draped over the door, the handle; the small kitchenette, the counter lined with Ignis’s spices and tools.

It was everywhere he looked--that sharp, clean smell. Unfamiliar. Sterile and empty.

And suddenly, Noctis felt sixteen again, alone in an apartment that was too big, too new. Empty. Sterile.

Missing...Noctis’s hand shot to the bedside table, where the square alarm clock illuminated his phone in a wash of deep red. Instinct, to grab it, to scroll through his contacts, thumb hovering over…

Noctis froze, the heat in his blood flushing cold, and he slowly lowered his hand, turned the phone's screen away, closing it. He blinked in the sudden darkness, felt its spinning crush as the past few weeks rushed to him. Squeezed at everything inside him.

He hadn’t forgotten, could never forget what the empire had done, what happened to his father in their glimmering, steel palace. Where his father had fallen in that impossibly large place, alone…

Noctis could never forget but here, in the dark and consuming silence, the world wavered with the realization of where he was: far from home, in a new world that now bowed to _him_. Restless and trapped in the memory of a sixteen year old boy.

A boy…

A boy without a dad.

Noctis pushed away the sheets, swung his legs over the bed, planting them on the polished wooden floor. The bed barely gave a creak as he rose from it and he was quiet, careful with the rustling of his clothing, the stamp of his boots’ heel.

Noctis paused as he reached the kitchenette, hand seeking and finding the room’s key in the dark. He threw a glance over his shoulder, at the sleeping forms of his friends, his gaze softening as it landed on the sprawled figure of Prompto. And then, pocketing both key and phone, Noctis left the room, quiet as a coeurl.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, when the sun burned overhead, bleaching color from everything it touched, Gladio might actually murder Noctis for this.

For wandering away from the safety of thei room. Away from his retainers, his shield and friends. Not as prince, not as _king_ \--just a lone shadow in the night, escaping heat and memories. Needing to move, ease his restlessness.

Noctis might have been a shadow, dressed in his familiar black, his thoughts roiling storms, but Lestallum, this city, was...even in the middle of the night, with hell descending on the rest of Lucis, the rest of the world, the city was awake. Vibrant.

Insomnia might not have even fallen, Noctis might have believed all to be well, as bar after bar overflowed with jovial patrons, most grease smudged women. All smiling, come to lose themselves in the city, to decompress after a long day in the powerplant.

Noctis’s steps halted and he stood, one foot in a shallow puddle, the other bathed in a golden street light as he stared at those bars. Took in the music and the aromas, wafting in streams of steam, all tempting, all mouthwatering. The laughter pressing against his cloudy thoughts.

Good for them. The world might be hell but this city was able to smile and that was...that was something, right?

 

* * *

 

Minutes or hours later, Noctis moved on. The sky was still an odd mix of dark and light, as if also smudged in grease by the Powerplant.

Past bars, restaurants, food trucks, Noctis walked. Until some of the restlessness in his limbs faded. His steps had slowed as well, turning from hurried to almost leisurely, and he found himself noticing more of the softer details of Lestallum, like the hanging flower boxes that bloomed over some of the smaller pubs, or the sweeping patterns in the cobblestones in some squares.

Noctis had just taken in the laundry hung between the brightly colored apartments, the muted rainbow they made, how they flapped in the balmy wind when...he reached the mouth of the alley and stopped walking.

Because there it was. Tucked between two cars flaking with rust, velvet black in shadow but still sleek and gleaming.

The Regalia.

Laughter pierced through the spell that had fallen over him, as a couple passed by the alley, arm in arm, faces aglow even in the dark. The obvious joy at being in each other’s company...Noctis tore his gaze away, only for it to land on another couple, sitting close on a bench…

Lestallum was for lovers, or at least, for companions. No one venturing out alone, their paths always crossing with another for revelry, for delights, for pleasure. For experiencing _life_ outside the confines of work or obligation.

Noctis’s chest squeezed with each couple he spotted, impossibly tight, like a coil twisting and twisting…

He’d experienced those delights, with Prompto and Ignis and Gladio. Chased spiced chicken skewers with fruit sweetened wine under the shade of a striped umbrella. Had wrinkled his nose at the exotic vegetables and spices in the market. Had clapped a beat for a group of street performers until his hands grew numb.

Day was for his friends but night, with this heat, this restlessness and sleep evading him...night had always been for him and his dad, since the very beginning. For as long as Noctis could remember, it’d been his dad that lulled him to sleep, voice deep but soft in his ear. When his apartment was too large, too new, it’d been his dad that soothed him other the phone.

Now...now...the Regalia was right there, a silent presence in the night, solid and unwavering. Waiting for him.

 

* * *

 

Even with Ignis’s cologne lingering in the driver’s seat, if Noctis closed his eyes, he could almost find it.

That woodsy and citrus scent of his dad and here, with the leather of the seats supple against his skin, it enveloped Noctis. Welcoming and comforting. So much that the tightness in his chest eased, just a fraction...only to move up to his throat as Noctis settled into the front seat.

He traced a finger over the gearbox, where his dad’s strong hand once rested between shifting gears. His dad had been here, filling this driver’s seat, his weight creating a dip in the leather. His boots had muddied the carpet beneath the pedals and his fingerprints had once smudged the glossy radio panel.

His dad had been here, in Lestallum, as well--a lifetime ago, before his kingship, before Noctis. Regis had seen these same sights, walked these same twisting alleys, burned his tongue on the same foods.

Noctis knew this, had listened to these stories straight into the night, tumbling from Regis’s mouth in the rich timbre of his voice.

Noctis’s hand fell away, and his sigh filled the Regalia, a faint cry in the night. He shifted, curling his legs onto the seat, his hands squeezed between them. Beyond the windshield, life in Lestallum continued, never once fading into silence or complete darkness.

“I wish you were here, Dad,” Noctis whispered around the tightness in his throat, the words thick, hesitant.

Noctis swallowed against the lump in his throat, blinking against the silver pooling in his eyes.

The world was a fairytale come to life. The stars flickering in the great expanse of sky; the rumble of a volcano; destiny, urgent and looming; his faithful knights; beasts and swords and machines.

Like everything his dad once told him, legends spilling from smug lips, shielding the truly horrifying, highlighting the awesome.

Regis was gone; Noctis was a boy without his dad, who found sleep evasive but right now? Right now, Noctis closed his eyes, let the fraction of comfort he found in the Regalia--the familiar leather, the phantom cologne--settle over him like a blanket.

“Wanna hear a story about a prince, Dad?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](https://tsukibeamfics.tumblr.com/)


End file.
